


Nothing In Between

by Kaerith



Series: Witcher Prompt One-Shots [14]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, M/M, Masturbation, Pining, Plot Device Forest of Evergreens, Sexual Fantasy, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:42:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25224091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaerith/pseuds/Kaerith
Summary: Jaskier is right there, and Geralt tries to think of other things. Tries to empty his mind. But his bard is everywhere, surrounding him with his smell, warmth, and weight.Geralt imagines him waking up, opening his eyes. Instead of amused or revolted, Jaskier is intrigued. If Jaskier wanted him... what would he say? Well, it is Geralt's fantasy. Geralt can imagine Jaskier licking his lips and watching him wide-eyed and saying something like "You look so good like this." Of course in reality Jaskier would use more, better words, but just that simple sentiment is enough for Geralt.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Witcher Prompt One-Shots [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1791685
Comments: 7
Kudos: 183
Collections: Interesting Character and/or Interesting Relationship Development, Witcher Kink Meme (Dreamwidth)





	Nothing In Between

**Author's Note:**

> From the prompt: [Geralt/Jaskier, Geralt masturbates next to unconsious Jaskier](https://witcherkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/429.html?thread=468397)

Geralt supposes that both he and Jaskier are lucky that the angry husband assaulted the bard for flirting with his wife here at the inn. There have been times before when Jaskier has been thrown out of windows or left to lie unconscious in the streets for hours until Geralt gets concerned enough to look for him.

The inn's fish stew was filling and tasty enough, but Geralt doubted that Jaskier would be thrilled to wake up to find that the thick clay bowl the husband had conked him with had broken and poured its contents over his head and shoulders. The witcher is honestly torn between worry for his friend and admiration for the bookkeeper's martial crockery skills as he hauls Jaskier's unconscious body into the small nook of a rented room.

One of the serving girls keeps cooing over Jaskier and fluttering around in concern until Geralt asks her to bring water. Jaskier's head fits through the small window of the room, so he bends Jaskier over the sill and pours bucketfuls of water over his hair to wash the lumps of gravy and meat and vegetables into the dirt outside. Unfortunately the fish was oily, so Geralt is required to actually wash the bard's hair and skin with soap as well if he doesn't want the smell to go rancid by morning.

Finally Jaskier is clean and tucked into bed-- which is more than the philandering dandy deserves for ignoring all the clues to his flirtation target's married status. Geralt closes the shutters to keep out the chill of the night air and closes the room's door to deter the serving girl from popping in to check on Jaskier throughout the night.

The room is small; practically just a closet converted into a room for rent by shoving a miniscule pallet inside. Geralt has the choice of squeezing onto the cot with Jaskier or leaning against a wall and sleeping while standing up like a horse. Geralt chooses to share the bed, Jaskier's semicomatose state at least making him a quiet bedmate for once.

The mattress is small. Geralt pulls Jaskier to lie half on top of him. His friend is pliant and drapes over Geralt's chest like he's boneless: just a warm, steadily breathing, heavy blanket.

...that smells very, very good. Geralt used the liquid soap of Jaskier's that has his favorite scent. Something herby but not flowery or fruity. Jaskier has said that it's the most expensive of his collection and has joked that Geralt has either the most expensive taste or no taste at all- nothing in between. It had been the first bottle Geralt had grabbed while he held Jaskier over the window sill. The witcher had hesitated to use it, but had decided that Jaskier seemed to need another lesson about not flirting with other people's wives. The bard could ponder his poor behavior while he played to earn extra coin to buy more.

Geralt can also smell the filbert oil and beeswax Jaskier uses on his hands to protect his calluses. He can also smell the dried sweat under the human's arms from when he performed in the warm tavern room of the inn earlier.

Geralt tries to steer his mind to other topics, but his senses refuse to give up their appreciation of Jaskier's proximity. His cock is throbbing. Geralt doesn't permit himself to move at all except for his own slow breathing: Jaskier is _right there,_ and Geralt is capable of self-restraint. He wants to rub himself against Jaskier but he won't.

He has become weak and infatuated. Jaskier has turned Geralt from a lone wolf into a devoted puppy willing to follow him in hopes of getting scraps of affection. It's demeaning, but the smiles he earns from his bard, the compliments, even just the implicit trust Jaskier gives him when he closes his eyes to sleep and leaves Geralt to guard him while he is at his most vulnerable- all those things make warmth kindle inside of his numb body.

His friend is on Geralt's mind constantly. Even (maybe even particularly) when Geralt has to take some private time to tend to himself. He had jerked himself off to vague fantasies of Jaskier saying kind things and smiling. Geralt had trained his mind and body to yearn for Jaskier, and now he was reaping the bitter rewards of his folly. Jaskier was all over him, inescapable; curled up on Geralt's chest, his hair tucked under Geralt's chin, and his hot breath puffing against Geralt's neck... and Geralt _could not do anything._. His prick was making his smallclothes damp and was inches away from Jaskier's body. It would be so easy to squirm just a bit and thrust against him.

Geralt tries to think of other things. Tries to empty his mind. But his bard is everywhere, surrounding him with his smell, warmth, and weight.

If Geralt tipped him to the side.... Propped him up between the wall and Geralt's back, and took himself in hand-- that would be acceptable, right? Even if Jaskier woke up and found them tucked together on the very small bed with Geralt turned away and getting himself off quickly and efficiently... Geralt could easily imagine Jaskier just teasing him and then letting the matter drop. The bard liked to poke fun at everything Geralt did, but he was really quite matter-of-fact about bodily functions.

It was plausible. This town was too small for a brothel, Geralt had a need that had _absolutely nothing_ to do with his friend, and was stuck here in a tiny room making sure Jaskier didn't suddenly die from his extramarital flirting habits. Jaskier would say something about how Geralt had been either inspired by such a handsome view (not having a clue at how true that was) or how the witcher must have been very hard up to have to wank in the intimidating presence of Jaskier and his sexual experience. Or maybe he would feel guilty for the earlier incident and say one of his rare self-deprecating half-jokes about how difficult Geralt has it being hounded by a manic, colorful flea that was so inept at self-preservation that the poor witcher can't even have a moment of private time. (Geralt felt awkward in those moments. He understood why Jaskier had those ideas about Geralt's opinion of him, but he didn't consider the bard a parasite any more. Maybe a millstone hanging around his neck and weighing him down, sometimes, when Jaskier's... exuberance for life and fair treatment for Geralt leads to angry peasants running them out of town. But that enthusiasm has more than won over Geralt; he finds it endearing now. He has tried to hint that his opinion of his friend has changed, but Geralt knows he isn't good at communicating anything but threats.)

His arousal hasn't subsided at all during his musings. Geralt decides that he has to take the risk and reposition themselves. He rolls Jaskier's back against the wall. He should turn on his side and face away from the temptation of Jaskier's skin and body heat, but he is too desperate to finish this quickly. Too weak to ignore the opportunity of satisfying himself with the object of his lust and affection curled up against him.

Geralt slips a hand inside his shorts and his cock twitched and throbs in his grasp. His thighs strain against the thin straw mattress as his hips buck up to thrust his prick into his grip. His flesh is damp, and he has to hitch a breath at how good it feels.

Jaskier's breath puffs against his neck and shoulder in sour-ale clouds. Geralt imagines him waking up, opening his eyes to see Geralt fucking his own fist. Instead of amused or revolted, Jaskier is intrigued. Jealous, maybe. If Jaskier wanted him... what would he say? The prostitutes have usually wanted him to finish fast, but maybe Jaskier would want Geralt to take it slow. Jaskier has called him "handsome" and "pretty," though he is probably just better at hiding his sarcasm than Lambert is. Well, it is Geralt's fantasy. Geralt can imagine Jaskier licking his lips and watching him wide-eyed and saying something like "You look so good like this." Of course in reality Jaskier would use more, better words, but just that simple sentiment is enough for Geralt. His friend's striking blue eyes fixated on how the crown of his cock emerges from the curl of his fingers. Maybe Jask's hand on his bicep, squeezing it in excitement. His voice, slightly hoarse, maybe, saying something kind that makes Geralt feel warm inside...

He's coming, biting back a groan, squeezing his eyes shut as his head tips back-- his whole body tightening to force his spend _out_ from the hot central crux of his body as it strains up. It's hard and satisfying: four or five or six spasms shooting out from his prick that feel strong enough to have striped the ceiling of this cramped inn room. Geralt lets himself go limp, keeping his eyes closed and trying to maintain the fantasy just a bit longer.

Jaskier's fingers with their calluses and hidden strength squeezing his arm. Jaskier's pink, pink lips brushing his cheek. A smug sparkle in his blue eyes as he says something kind and flattering. It would be _nice_. So much more than a monster like him ever deserves.

"Oh, Geralt, that was a gorgeous sight to wake up to."

The witcher freezes because that was not something he imagined.

Jaskier's hand _was_ on his arm. Now it moves onto his bare chest and gently strokes his skin. Jaskier's groin presses against his hip, and his bard is hard and hums as he thrusts against him. Again, gently.

"Um... am I reading things wrong?" Jaskier stops moving and his voice is uncertain. Geralt has to face this, even though his face feels like fire and his mouth is dry.

"You... liked it? It's a, uh, small room. And I-"

Jaskier nestles up even closer. "Can't you feel how hard I am for you? My lovely witcher pleasuring himself right here, in the same bed? I thought it was another dream at first."

Geralt knows it is too good to be true, but he couldn't ever have made this up. He opens his eyes and turns to see Jaskier's face so close to his, with his blue eyes wide and his teeth biting a pink lip. His eyes and face glow with tentative happiness. "Oh." The sound falls out of his mouth as his breath hangs in his throat before plunging out in a sigh of relief.

"Would you mind maybe giving me a kiss and then letting me experience for myself what that hand can do?" Jaskier eyelashes are so long and his fingers so warm as they trace up his neck to settle on his face.

Geralt is only a witcher. He is crude and coarse and knows nothing of romance except for the secret longings in his mind and heart. All he can say is, " _Yes._ " There's nothing of the depth of relief and wonder that he feels conveyed in the word, but he thinks that his bard manages to understand everything he cannot express anyway.

Geralt had been completely, miraculously wrong: Jaskier doesn't flirt or tease or say anything to diminish himself in self-deprecation. Jaskier opens himself up and accepts everything from Geralt with a sense of awe and gratitude.


End file.
